


From the Ocean to the Desert

by C4LIC4T



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Cameras, Dave Strider has PTSD, Depression, Dirty Dreams, Dream Sex, Homesickness, I'll add tags as I write, I'll mention some songs in the notes, John is a sad boi, M/M, Middle California, Music, Photography, Questioning Sexuality, but he sure has some coping mechs that come from that, no game, not explicitly self harm, theres a playlist that goes with this fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:07:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24741271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C4LIC4T/pseuds/C4LIC4T
Summary: In which John is a certified dumbass and they end up living together, John learns a few things.There's a playlist and a few mentioned songs to go along with this. I highly recommend them!
Relationships: John Egbert/Dave Strider
Comments: 10
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Playlist for this fic: [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLf79RBUKnCYRTvXQ2umjCHNEC59BqWj5Q)  
> Dave's Remix: [Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HgRtwT4SJPE&list=PLQm2e1dRjOM-Dm2e614Vj_nvggeVFyXpA&index=5)
> 
> John playing piano: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EgOGxPHV3QE

Your hands are pinned tight under theirs, a face you can't quite place breaking into a grin as your chest heaves and the heat starts to sit heavy against your hips. The thick air left a chill across your chest, the damp breathing creating a blanket of heat. Your legs quiver slightly and your panting makes you choke on a moan. Their hands smoothly push against your thighs and-

The lights flick on in your room and you start awake, sitting up so fast you hit your forehead against the slats of the bunk above you as you come to terms with what happened. Your roommate chuckles, mumbling a sorry under his breath as he grabs his bag and flicks the light off as he slips out again. 

You settle back down and steady your breath, putting a hand over your forehead to rub away the impending headache. After a few minutes of staring at the slats and ceiling, you roll off your bed, falling a little further than you're used to and you hit the floor with a heavy thud. You're acutely aware of how your boxers fall across your slowly fading erection. You sigh and shrug your way into the bathroom to take a shower after grabbing your phone. The water hisses and the pipes groan, your hands find themselves finger combing knots idly as you scroll through the pictures your friends from home were posting online. You faintly recall being curled up in your bed at 9pm watching a movie one of your friends from high school had sent you. The dub was overlaid and they'd thrown clips from other movies in the middle. It left you wishing you were sitting back at your house in Washington watching it with your online friends.  
The pitch the water makes as it comes through the pipes changes and you quickly step under the hot water, and for the first few seconds it stings. The sting spreads into a dull throb and then the heat seeps between the fibers of your tight shoulders and into the bone. You sigh as your phone chimes again from the counter. You lean out reluctantly, and set it on the shelf in the shower. Red text fills your chat client, tailed by the blue of a link. You tap it and it pulls up a mix Dave made.

It's not like his usual mixes and remixes, where the beat makes your heart beat faster and makes you want to get moving, this one starts with a soft beat and fills in with guitar that swells to meet the singer's desperate sounding voice. It makes you think of the music the pretty blonde girl back home played with her boyfriend at almost every opportunity. It fades into background noise as you slide back into the faintly homesick vibes and your chest flutters with the desire to be home.  
The music blends into another song, Dave's smooth beat shining through the static tying the songs together.  
You scrub your fingers through your hair and feel the tension ease as your heartbeat syncs with the beat.  
Before you know it, your alarm is buzzing your phone off the shelf and you catch it halfway down. You calculate your time, and sling your towel across your shoulders as you step out of the bathroom and get dressed quickly. It's absolutely not going to take you an hour to get dressed, but you calculate that time in for the inevitable realization you forgot something or someone calls your attention on something else.  
Your phone buzzes on cue, and you check the red text and smile. Happily reporting back on the music. You flip your favorite tee on again for the whateverth day and throw a hoodie over it. If nobody sees your shirt they won't know you've worn it more days in a row than you want to admit to. It’s comfortable, and it doesn’t make your skin itch with anxiety if you have to take the hoodie off.

The sun is bright as you step outside the apartment, backpack slung over your shoulder. You hop over the railing and drop onto the lawn with a little less grace than you were hoping to have. You click your car keys and sling your bag across the console. It’s only a couple miles to campus, but your pacific northwest self isn’t used to the dry heat that middle California is offering to you. The radio buzzes as you start your car, the dash lighting up like Christmas and then slowly the lights die out. Except the maintenance required light you simply haven’t figured out how to shut off.  
Your chest aches as you remind yourself to ask your dad the next time you call him. You doubly remind yourself to call him.  
It’s only been a few days since you unpacked everything you could possibly fit into your car and your dads station wagon and made the two day trip to the college you were so excited to get into just a few months ago. You turn your blinker on as the fourth person in a row cuts across all three lanes to turn onto the street you’re trying to get onto. People here drive nothing like they did in your quiet town up north. They drive like if they don’t beat some invisible opponent to their destination the overlord of the city will personally execute everything they love. It sucks.

You finally pull into the college campus and drag your bag across your car again. You turn the key in the door, knowing that the lock button on your fob doesn’t work anymore. A loving pat as you round the trunk leaves a streaky hand print in the pollen that has accumulated over the week your car has lived in your designated parking spot. Your roommate doesn’t drive, he usually walks, or you assume he does. You’ve been here all of a week and heard him say maybe three words. You’re not sure if something happened to him or what, but he’s always on edge and you’ve scared him by turning over in your bed at night. You haven’t even heard his name yet.

You file into your class and sit dead center, second row. The way you always have. Close enough to the front you can always see, even when your eyes are heavy with sleep and your head is too heavy to hold up with just your neck. A little bit of distance between you and the professor so you don’t seem like too much of a goody two shoes. You plop down a notebook on the desk and idly doodle in the margins until the class, you’re mostly drawing clouds and a sun tucked up in the corner with wiggly rays. The professor comes in and introduces herself, then skips smoothly over the syllabus you’ve already read, and into a short video. 

It allows you time to draw and take some idle notes on the concept your first week is covering. You’re taking a photography class to satisfy your art requirements. Film, just for the kicks. The professor is covering some history today, but it isn’t grabbing your attention. She’s funny, her words trying to grab your attention. You still don’t have a camera, you’ll have to hunt around some pawn shops or something, and that note flows into your notebook without thinking. The professor dismisses class and you file out dutifully, stuffing your hands in your pockets as you walk. As you’re walking out, you see the pale blonde and hunched shoulders that distinctly belong to your roommate. You don’t know much about him, so you jog to catch up, slowing approximately 10 steps back so it didn’t seem like you were running to meet him. He flinches when you slow down, half turning to meet your eyes with his- oh he’s wearing sunglasses. You can’t remember if you’ve ever seen him without them. 

“Oh, uh, hi… I just saw you coming out of the photography class and uh was hoping maybe you’d wanna talk about that.” Your words are full of your lack of athletic ability and nervousness. There’s a reason your friends are mostly online. His face is hard to read, mouth carefully pulled straight. His eyebrows furrow behind the dark glass and you can only faintly see that he does in fact have eyes. “I mean, I don’t know anything about cameras, I just..”

You trail off again as a single eyebrow pushes above the glass. God he looks so defensive, your eyes flit to his feet. Failing to make eye contact.

“Yeah dude, maybe later. I gotta run and grab some snacks.” His voice has a drawl to it you didn’t catch in the few words you’ve heard him say before today. It catches you by surprise and your eyes flit up to meet what you assume are his. There’s a mental stutter on his end, “I- yeah, you need anything? Some soda or somethin?” 

You shake your head, and he nods in return, lifting two fingers to wave as he turns back towards the entrance. Some other kids call out to him and one tosses him a skateboard. He cracks a smile. Your chest squeezes a little bit, and you remember you’re standing in the middle of a sidewalk into the college and people are filtering around you. Keep walking, Egbert, you chide yourself. It’s a short walk to your next class, and it’s about as exciting as the first. You’re having a hard time focusing on material you’ve already seen. Your teachers had warned you college basics might be too easy for you. Not because you’re all that smart, but because you didn’t connect with your classmates back home, you spent more time reading and working ahead to keep yourself busy. You were hoping that college in a different state, a full slate of new people, a new environment would help you break out of that cycle. Suddenly you’re not so sure.

The english class ends with a pile of books to pick up, half of which you’ve already got sitting back at home. You make a note to have your dad ship them down to you as you need them. You climb back into your car and shuffle your way through the too aggressive traffic. It’s hard to drive without full attention like you did back home. There’s too many people with too many things going on. You plug your phone into the wacky stereo system. It’s still stock, but you’ve hardwired an aux cord into the damn thing so you could listen to your own music without the static. You’re no audiophile, but the static spiked your anxiety like something was wrong. You sigh as you tap through your playlists at a stoplight. You glance up, and the light is still red. Pull up a pawn shop that boasts its camera collection and get the directions in the background. You check your bank app. The light is still red.  
You sigh and slump into the soft cloth seat, well worn and broken in. You note the visible anger in the driver in the green car next to you. He’s hitting his fist against his steering wheel and looking around as if the traffic was going to open up a freeway for him if he got mad enough. You adjust your glasses, and when the light turns green you let this guy cut in front of you, much to the distaste of the car behind you. 

When you get to the shop, your head hurts with the smell of ancient dust and chemical cleaners as soon as you walk in. There’s a weird energy here. A woman argues with the man at the counter and all you can hear is that they’re talking too loud about guns and some rule that she can’t take it home today. You glance over some of the stuff there. Cases of jewelry and knives laid out. Pistols stacked so the grips are on top of the gun next to it. Rifles on the back wall with neon green tags listing their price. The ground feels gritty as you turn to the other room. You can see a piano sitting in the back room, and it draws you in. 

You think it’s too nice of a piano to be sitting in a dark room where the dust is already accumulating on the smooth red wood and the gold letters on the front look so lackluster. There’s a handwritten sign that reads “play us a tune or take the tune home with you”. You oblige.

You settle at the bench, trying to figure out what you want to play, ghosting your fingers lightly over the gently worn keys. Admiring their iridescence as the grimy light hits them. You carefully run a quick scale, waiting for someone to tell you off. Instead a couple people filter into the room as if they were coming to look at literally anything else in the room. You take a deep breath and quickly test out the starting chords. Finding it to sound right to your ears, you ease into the beginning of the last song you can remember. You surprise yourself with not fumbling too badly. Enough most people wouldn’t notice. The tempo picks up, and you find yourself missing playing often. Your focus drifts and you miss the key you meant to hit once again and it jolts you back completely. 

You don’t finish the song. You stop after the first chorus and the people that had filtered in clap at you. You can feel your face heat up as you close the lid over the keys and, like your car, pat the piano as you walk away from it. Just as it did with your car, it leaves streaks. The glass case in the middle catches your attention, the convex glass of a camera lens staring at you. It strikes you that you have no idea what you’re looking for and that familiar chill is back in your spine. 

A couple of brands look familiar, Nikon, Canon. The ones you see everywhere. There’s a couple though that don’t look familiar. You know you need a camera that shoots 35 millimetre film and the recommended specs are on your phone. You sigh, crouching down to look at the bottom shelf. There’s a small all black camera sitting in the back that grabs your attention. The sticker on the top doesn’t have anything written on it yet, like it was put there without thinking of it too much. You look it up on your phone, and find not a whole lot of information, but a lot of photos. They look good, and from the initial draw, you decide you want that one. If it’s not going to cost you an arm like some of the digital cameras off to your left. You can see the tags on the camera bags over there boasting four digits of expense. That’s more than you can spend on a class you’re not sure that you’ll love. There’s a guy behind the counter who taps the glass with a clawed finger. You look up at him and he seems taken aback a little. 

“What are you looking for?” He asks, his voice deeper tan you anticipated. 

“Oh, uh, I need a film camera for class,” You start, and he nods, “What about the Ricoh in the back?” 

He looks confused and crouches down and you do too, tapping the glass to point to it. He takes it out and fiddles with it for a moment before standing up.  
“Yeah, it all works. The rewind is a little sticky, so you’ll have to be careful with it, but it’ll get the job done. How about 35 for it?” 

You’re sold, fumbling to get your wallet out and shuffle the bills across at him. He chuckles softly and hands it over. 

“Is Dave in your class? He’d be drooling over the last batch of cameras that got sold off here. Kid loves his polaroids.” He keeps talking, and it strikes you that you don’t know anyone in your class. Your wrists itch. You smooth your hand over the textured metal of the camera's body and it’s oddly soothing. 

“I actually don’t know anyone yet, I just moved here.” Your voice comes across too soft for your mouth and the words fall like a feather, taking too long to get across the gap. The guy behind the counter pauses. 

“You’ll know him soon enough if you’re taking pictures. Lives in the darkroom just about. He hasn’t been here that long, just over summer.” It breathes a bit of relief into you, somehow. “Anyways, have fun. If you need glass for a project just swing by, if I’m here I usually know where you can get some.” 

You nod softly and slink out of the pawn shop before something else happens that sucks the energy out of you. You swing by a fast food place on your way home, reveling in the comfort of something that was the same as home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's a little mix to go with the playlist for this fic  
> Mix: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2HlZrmnetGY  
> Playlist: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iiCA-WDz_BQ&list=PLf79RBUKnCYRTvXQ2umjCHNEC59BqWj5Q

Climbing up the stairs winded you, and you hate the elevator in this building. You tap the door a couple times and then put the key in the lock to let yourself in.  
Your roommate is sitting on his bed to the left, one headphone off as you come in. You sling your bag against the edge of your bed and flop down face first on the mattress.  
You catch your roommate chuckling at you and your phone pings in your back pocket. Ten seconds and you reach for it. 

TG: so what you going to lay face down for the foreseeable future

You let your brain swim as the pieces click into place and smash your face back into your bed. You groan at how stupid you've been over the last couple of weeks. Of course it was Dave, that made sense. The cashier at the pawn shop, the oddly specific messages. The fact you couldn’t remember him ever saying his name when you met in person for the first time. He must’ve thought you would recognize him. Fuck.

EB: hey dave I think I may be the stupidest asshole in the whole universe.

You can hear him chuckle on his bed. Your face is burning and you have to start laughing with him. There's a couple minutes before your phone pings again. 

TG: so you want me to help you figure out your camera or nah

EB: yeah, give me a minute to revel in the stupidity of man. i cant believe how dumb i just was.

TG: wait dude did you not realize it was me this whole time just chillin 5 feet apart cuz youre not gay or some shit

EB: maybe? i can’t believe the lack of brain cells in my head for how long i’ve been here. 

You can hear Dave laughing now, the mattress squeaks and you don’t hear his footsteps when he crouches by your bed and rests his hand on the edge. It’s a careful movement, and in a few seconds you roll to your side to make room for him to sit, if he wants. He takes the hint and sits against the bed frame. 

“Seriously John?” His voice is soft, but the soft turn of his lips show he’s just as amused as he is disappointed. “Where’s your camera at?”

You motion towards your backpack, and then curl into yourself to grab it. You pull the camera and its case from your bag and hand it to Dave. He turns the leather over in his hand before carefully unbuckling the shackles that held the camera safe. He pours the camera out into his hands, turning it over gently. His mouth softens into his focus, and you can’t help but watch his face more than his actions. This is Dave, and the puzzle pieces that fell into place earlier are glossed over, solid.  
He folds his shades for a moment and holds the camera body up to his face, fingers smoothly working the camera’s lens and aiming it for you. His fingers spin and he rests his fingers over the lever on top, drawing it back towards his eye. His finger presses down and the camera clicks with a ka-tink that sounds good. It’s satisfying to watch Dave draw the lever back with a quick succession of mechanical clicks. You think you’re going to like this class if you can just never stop watching him shoot a camera. He pauses, turning the camera over again in his hands.  
“Have you ever used a camera, John? This one feels like it shoots true.” His voice is gentler now than it was earlier, not catching you watching his mouth intently.

“Not a film one, no. I’ve used my dad's little point and shoot camera.” you admit with a slight flush to your face, looking to make eye contact with him. He avoids it. He hands you the camera back and flips his shades open in a practiced motion to cover his eyes again. Even with the sun setting outside the window and the room fading into that vanilla twilight. You want to take a picture of him in this light. The soft light cradling his cheeks in its wavering tendrils. 

“Go ahead and try it, shouldn’t take you long to figure it out. The light meter lights up when you push the shutter button, you can just spin the dial on the top to make it happy.”

You pick up the camera, mimicking what Dave was doing just a moment ago. The image is a little hazy, and as you spin the lens, it suddenly fills in clearly, down to the few curly strands of hair at the nape of his neck that give away his hair texture. You haven’t seen much of that, honestly. It makes you wish you had your hands in his hair. What?  
The thought jolts you back to what you were doing, and you cautiously press half down on the shutter button like you’d seen Dave do. There’s a bright green light in the corner that makes the settings light up in the viewfinder. You fiddle with the focus, and when you’re happy with the crispness of what you see you click the button. It shudders slightly in your hand, as if it was rattling with the force needed to take the image. You mimic the film forward, and it clicks nicely under your thumb. It feels foreign to have everything be so old school and mechanical. When you lower the camera, you can feel Dave’s eyes on you from behind the glasses. Whack.

“That feels nice.” Your voice is quiet, rolling your thumb lightly over the textured body of the camera. Dave smiles slightly, and you’re drawn to his mouth again. You bring the viewfinder back to your face, spinning the focus to frame his slight smile. It falls into a subtler smile quickly, and you’re almost disappointed. You’re close enough to him it’s a small window of his skin, with his lips turned into the subtlest smile. Click.The next thing you know, is Dave pushing the camera out of your face gently. 

“Dude if you wanted a picture, you could have just asked. I don’t even know if your camera has film in it yet.” You flush hard at that, your cheeks burning as the light fades more suddenly, “You wanna get pizza or something tonight?” 

“Uh yeah, sure. I got it. Think of it as an apology for being the stupidest room mate you’ll probably ever have.” He laughs at that, bringing the smile back to his lips. 

“Yeah sure, get yourself out of bed, we’re going out tonight.” He spins to stand up, feet hitting the floor gently. You remember the casual mentions of his bro, and it hits you as to why you barely hear him in the morning, and how Dave casually sneaks around the suite. Why Dave showers in the evening, and is almost silent out the door most mornings. Right. Focus. He’s digging his way through a box under his bed, and then he chucks a roll of film at you. You don’t catch it, but it ends up landing in your lap anyways. The slow reaction gets a smile in your favor and part of you wants to never see it leave. 

You unfold yourself, and fiddle the edge of your sweatshirt. Taking the smooth canister into your hand and rolling it against your palm. He’s up and ready in a moment, and snaps you out of your distraction with a sharp nudge with his elbow. 

“Come on dude, I’m starving.” He’s at the door and your legs stutter to get started, mind sputtering like the old pickup that always stalled at the stop sign when you were late to school. You follow him quietly, grabbing your car keys from the clip on your bag just in case. Dave doesn’t have his skateboard, so either he’s counting on you driving, or it’s close enough to walk to. His footsteps echo on the stairs, but yours are louder, making the metal railing shudder slightly under your hand. Dave’s faster than you, and you can feel the tired seeping into you. When did you get so old? Weren’t your college years supposed to be full of energy and parties? You feel like you’re drowning half the time, exponentially more tired than the people around you. It doesn’t make it easy to socialize when the energy drains out of you like a holey bucket as soon as you start to pick yourself up. 

Your hand catches the corner post at the bottom of the stairs and you’re faced with the orange glow of the parking lot. The sun is burning through the smoggy air in its last attempt to light this part of the world. It had already gotten dark in your room, you note, Dave is drawing ahead of you. Pick up the pace, Egbert.

Dave pauses at the back of your car, a stutter in the smooth gait that put him so far ahead of you. You note that you’re a little winded. It’s almost embarrassing how bad of shape you’ve let yourself get into. You fish your keys from your front pocket and click the fob, lights flashing gently in the fading light. Dave gets in the messy passenger seat wordlessly, kicking at the empty cans of iced tea on the floorboard. You’re a little embarrassed about that too, but Dave doesn’t say a word about it. He’s already got the aux cord pulled to his side of the car, and as soon as you start the engine, the mix he’d sent you this morning is playing. He’s fiddling with the sound in the car and eventually settles back. 

“It’s nice to hear it all the way around you. Not just in your head. Car’s got halfway decent speakers.” His words are timed to the beat, and it makes your chest squeeze in a way you don’t exactly understand. You back the car out carefully, and Dave is watching the mirror shift when you push the car into gear. 

“Thanks, do you have a place in mind? You’ve been here a little longer than me.” You let your voice trail off to let him fill in the gaps. He doesn’t, but he does shrug. You think you saw a pizza place a few blocks down, so that’s where you start. The street is busy, and you carefully bump the volume up a notch on the radio, letting the smooth beats fill your head and rumble the car around you a little bit. It’s still too hot, even in the first hints of spring. You’re used to it being much colder, and the light turns green. You’re not fast enough and the car behind you is laying on the horn before you can even let out your clutch. You let the car roll back just a little bit before taking off, watching the driver behind you flail in the rear view mirror. It was tiring that nobody gave you any space, and even though you’ve been driving this car for years, sometimes you still slipped up. Maybe the regulars around here would get to know this little blue car and back the fuck off of it. Your hopes are too high. The driver flips you off and buzzes by you at at least twice the speed limit by the time you’ve made the right hand turn onto the main road. Dave is laughing and flipping him off back from the passenger seat, you’re dutifully reminded that he’s from the city.

You end up sitting at another light, and you tap the steering wheel in time with the music. Dave is watching your hands now, you keep catching glances of his eyes from the edge of the shades. Are those the shades you sent him when you were kids? You’re impressed he didn’t lose them or break them if they are. It makes you glad to think about that though.

You pull away from the light as it turns green, rolling out across the top of the freeway and the light on the other side turns green as the car shudders to a stop, again. The guitar in the music gets more intense. It dies off into something more chill, and you slowly creep forward as the line of busy cars gains traction and pulls away from the light. You flick on your turn signal and dive into a space that your little car barely fits into. Surprisingly nobody honks at you and you pull into the pizza place. Dave takes a deep breath. You’re not that bad of a driver are you?

“Pizza’s on me, get whatever you want.” You can almost see Dave light up as he pushes the car door closed carefully. It doesn’t latch. When you round the car you close it harder behind him, and you can see him flinch. You remind yourself to just say something next time. He’s gotten ahead of you in an instant though, and you can almost see the excitement coursing through Dave as his steps roll up into the balls of his feet. You’re dragging behind, the trail of energy wasted growing wider as you spur yourself into motion.  
The soft buzz of the neon light reflects off your glasses and burns a dull ache into the back of your head as you enter. Dave is leaned casually against the counter, chatting with the tall girl behind the counter. She’s leaned against the counter too, leaving Dave’s head too close to hers. A thick braid is over her shoulder, and you can see in the way she smiles and laughs she likes Dave. You don’t blame her. He’s cool and casual, and he lightly lifts a finger in your direction and you take it as your cue to come pay. You slide the card out of the back of your phone, and you’re almost surprised when the girl laughs at you. 

"Oh so you must be John!" Her voice reminds you of what sunshine must sound like. 

"That's me," you reply, making eye contact with the corona advert behind her. 

"It's Jade silly!" She's smiling wide, pushing her glasses up her nose, "we talk like every night, I decided to try out a school close to where you guys were going!" 

A grin breaks out on your face like a horse out of an open gate. Could that mean that all four of you were here. Jade leans across the counter and her fingers pinch the front of your hoodie, pulling you into the counter, and into a tight hug. You wrap your arms around her tight, breathing in the gentle scent of bread flour and citrus. She pats your shoulder lightly and you let go. 

"I'm off work soon, we should go see a movie! There's a comedy western I think all of us will like." Dave immediately has his phone open, replying with a quip about Taylor Lautner or something. You feel dizzy with the surge of happiness. Two of your closest friends are here, they're real and you can touch them. There isn't an ocean between you and Jade and there isn't half the country between you and Dave. It feels surreal and you find one hand in your pocket digging blunt fingernails into your thigh. Focus, Egbert. Dave lightly bumps your elbow and it pulls you back into the conversation. 

"Can you drive us to the big theater on the other side of the river? It's just so much nicer." Jades voice over powers the start of Dave's sentence, though he doesn't seem to mind much. 

"Yeah man they've got the good seats and the speakers are all new." You fidget a string in your pocket as he talks, watching his mouth like subtitles. 

"Sure, it's gonna cost you dessert though." The immediate fall, and then rise of their faces fuels you. The energy from actually having a successful conversation with more than one person at a time and the draw of a new movie to talk about with your friends pushing the creeping edge of guilt back. It was only like 7 o'clock anyways. 

You end up ordering a pizza anyways, you and Dave crammed into a booth at the very very back of the place. You chatter about old westerns and what you hope this one will be, Dave lays on the smooth and leans across the table. Ironically of course, he assures you, taking a piece of pizza from your side. When Jade gets back to you, she's not in her work clothes anymore, and she has what looks like a bowl of pasta. She slides in next to Dave and he gives her a smile that you can't help but to feel a twinge of jealousy for. 

Wait. Jealous for what? It's not like you're dating Dave, or even that you would. You don't think so anyways. You can't exactly recall ever wanting to get nailed by a guy. You can't say you've ever been really all that interested in girls either. They're still chattering back and forth when you finish that thought, and Dave leans across the table to take the last slice of pizza from your side. You slap his hand playfully and he shoots you a hurt look with a theatric gasp. You laugh at him softly and lean in close, holding the slice of pizza close to Dave's mouth. 

"How bad do you want it?" You tease, and you can see the pink creeping up at the edges of his glasses and Jade laughs. Dave backs off this time, and you're not sure where that confidence came from. You smile and bite into the slice of pizza, slumping back into your spot while laughing slightly at yourself. 

The rest of the night flows pretty smoothly, Jade and Dave end up in the backseat of your car with Dave playing what you can best describe as country dubstep. Jade buys the movie tickets with her tips and the counter attendant gives her a look up and down when she pays in mostly ones with two guys behind her. She laughs and flirts effortlessly, making the girl blush with just a few words, especially when Dave joins in. It’s enough to make you blush too, and you shrug when the girl looks back at you with pleading eyes.  
They let up when you carefully brush by them to get inside, and you can almost hear the sigh of relief. After collecting popcorn for yourself and drinks to share with your friends, you file into the theater, tucking yourself towards the back so whispering between yourselves wouldn’t be as annoying to the, wow, whole other 6 people in the whole theater. The movie is good, with yourself between Jade and Dave, their playful teasing and Dave’s commentary doesn’t get lost on you. By the time the movie is over, you’re feeling like you’ve been awake too long. 

Jade grabs your hand and drags you to a photo booth. You can’t imagine you look good with how you’re feeling. Dave slides in and Jade swings you in so you’re crammed against Dave, and then sits on your leg carefully so she’s in between you and Dave. She’s blocking your view of the screen for a few seconds and then sits back, slinging an arm around both of you. Your glasses glint and it almost surprises you when the screen starts counting down. You force a smile onto your face and Dave is shooting finger guns at the camera with a slight tilt to his mouth. After the first picture, you sling your arm around Jade, and Dave mirrors it. You’re all a lot closer now. Dave’s hand pinches Jade, and she crumples almost immediately with a squeal. Oh, she’s ticklish. You absently notice that the screen is counting down from five again, and you join in on Jade’s assault with Dave. She’s shoving Dave’s face and her head hits you in the face when she’s trying to get away. The camera flashes. You sit through the next two photos laughing so hard you think you might cry. Once you catch your breath, Jade punches in something to the machine and leans over to whisper in your ear.

“Dave’s ticklish too, let’s get him in the middle.” You grin. Jade’s off to Dave’s side in a second shoving him into the middle and cramming herself against the wall of the photo booth. You let him get one halfway composed photo, though both yours and Jade’s wide grins probably tip him off to what’s about to happen. His hands come up almost immediately and you’ve never seen his carefully composed face fall apart so quickly. You pinch him once and he tries to ollie out. You hook an arm around his waist and tow him back into the photo booth with a smooth motion, but it sends him sprawled across both of you, barely visible as the camera flashes one more time. It takes another minute for you and Jade to compose yourself when Dave is laying on the floor of the booth with his feet sticking out under the curtain. He chastises you for your lack of maturity, despite being the one who started it with Jade. You carefully climb out and offer him a hand up, he hesitantly takes it, and you pull him up to his feet. 

The three of you pile back into your car, Dave opting for the front seat again this time. You drop Jade off at the front of her apartment building, and you can see the window she’s pointing at has a huge dog sitting in the window between the silhouette of a few plants. She bounces off, scanning her key card and the door swings open easily. Once she’s safely inside, you convince your car to go out onto the road again with a shudder. Dave fills the space between songs this time with movie critique, and it fades by the time you’re back to the apartment. You remind him to lock his door from the inside, and go through your usual routine of making sure the car is locked up tight. He waits for you this time, and you pat the back of your car as you walk to him. Your pace is similar to his as he climbs the stairs this time. The relief of being back home is enough for you to take a deep breath and let a little bit of your guard down. 

You gently remind Dave that he didn’t show you how to put the film in your camera, and you can see him light up a little bit from the corner of your eye. He starts to explain it and then quits. 

“I’ll just have to show you when we get inside.” His voice sheds a light on how excited you were to have him show you something new. There’s a few new things you’d like to try with Dave. Whoa. You flush subconsciously, even though you definitely didn’t say that out loud. You fish your keys from your pocket and unlock the front door, swinging the door open for Dave and watch him as he slips past you first. This time you peel your hoodie off at the door. It feels like a breath of fresh air. Dave had already disappeared into your room, but you take a second to grab a drink out of the fridge.

You’re not totally sure how you managed to not get this whole situation into your thick head before you’d moved in. You knew your dad had been talking with the apartment building and that your technical move in date had been over a month ago, but you hadn’t been ready to leave home just yet. You shake your head and decide to at least try and get the camera loaded before class tomorrow. When you push open the door, you catch Dave with his shirt over his head. You flush immediately and back up as if you’d just walked in on someone naked, apologizing quickly. 

“Dude it’s fine.” is the immediate response from Dave. Okay, you can do this. You’ve gotten so used to being the only person in your space. Your dad long gave up on trying to have chats in your room, respecting it as your space. This sort of living arrangement was totally foreign. You sit yourself down on your bed, having to almost hop up. The top bunk is empty, but this was the best option you could think of to have storage and potentially privacy in a shared space before you realized how dumb that was. You catch yourself looking over at Dave as he cautiously shimmies out of his jeans and into a pair of athletic shorts. The pale scars that webbed across his tan skin. You assume it’s from strifing with his brother. 

You’re finding your mind wandering just softly watching him. His skin looks so smooth and part of you wonders what it would feel like under your hands. This isn’t a usual train of thought for you. He just looks good. You can appreciate that. How he keeps the shades on even in the dim light of your room without ever missing a beat is beyond you. Every motion is smooth and quiet, despite the fact he doesn’t have to be anymore. Your chest squeezes. Dave’s athletic, muscles lean and practiced. He’s not bulky, but he looks good. He could definitely kick your ass three times in the time it would take you to realize what happened. You can still feel the film canister in your front pocket from earlier. You fiddle with it idly, averting your eyes from Dave again, despite being happy to memorize the map of scars that curve along his skin. 

The camera lays heavy on your bed, and you pick it up. Turning it over in your hands over and over, trying to find a latch or button that looked like it should open up the back. Dave was in front of you in a second, gently taking the camera from your hand and carefully spinning the wheel at the top with a tiny handle that flipped out. It clicks softly, and he pulls upward on the lever, popping the whole back open. Dave’s hands are practiced in dumping the little canister out of the camera and he looks up to you through his shades expectantly. You’ve been too focused on what his hands were doing, the waxy pink of scars littering his hand. 

“Here, let me put the new film in this time. I’m sure K-pin will show you how to do it in class again, but this roll of film will get you started.” You nod slightly, and the tip of the corner of his mouth gives away his amusement. You hand him the black plastic canister and he replaces the green roll of film inside with the yellow one you’d dumped out of the camera. He pockets the one you’d been practicing on already. You have no idea if they’ll turn out, or what else is on there, but you’re sure Dave will be able to find out a lot better than you. 

By now, Dave is rolling the film into the camera and clicking the advance forward. He snaps it shut and brings the camera up to his face, pushing his shades into the tight curls of his hair. 

“Strike a pose, John.” The words hit you like warm honey. Your eyes snap to, and the lens is too close to your face for your liking. You slouch back a little bit and put some space between the two of you. 

“I should be taking pictures of you, Dave, I uh, I’m not a model.” Your voice has a waver to it you can’t place. Your cheeks are already hot, and the fact that you’re suddenly pushed into your bed with the first person you can remember day dreaming about touching is pointing a camera at your face and expertly adjusting the settings in more ways than you can probably see. You swallow thickly as Dave props a foot up on your bed frame, caging you in further. There’s a hint of a smirk behind your camera and when he rests his elbow against his knee to steady his hands further, you can see a hint of color to his cheeks too. This has just been the case for the day hasn’t it. You want to reach for him, take the camera out of his hands, get a look at his eyes. You don’t. Instead, he snaps a photo, rolls the film forward with the faintest of clicks. You’re suddenly aware of your heartbeat in your ears. 

“So you want to take pictures of me?” The camera lowers and his glasses don’t fall back to the bridge of his nose, “Makes sense you’d want to take pictures of someone as cool as me. Go ahead, you just don’t get to use them in any exhibitions without me saying so.” 

You nod in agreement and he pushes your camera back into your hands. You almost fumble as Dave stretches his arms over his head to lean against your bed. Your faces are too close to do anything and you catch yourself wanting to lean into him. He smells sweet, you know it’s partially the snacks from the movie, but there’s a hint of coconut and probably some sort of cologne that’s making you feel dizzy all over again. You find yourself fixated on his lips and before you can think about it too hard you succumb to them. A light press is all it is, clumsy and surprising you more than Dave. There’s a brief pause to everything, your heartbeat the only thing marking the passing of time before one hand comes down and brushes along your jaw. You’re honestly surprised at how warm Dave’s hands are, and how soft he is when he catches your mouth in a gentle kiss. 

You can’t believe you kissed him, or that he kissed you. It’s not a long kiss, just something gentle and soft. You blink up at Dave when he backs off, as if he too just realized what he did. His face is turned away and your fingers tingle with excitement in a way you don’t remember feeling the last time you were kissed. You remember the camera in your hands, and without a word pick it up. The settings are close to what they needed to be, and Dave flustered and not looking at you as he tried to figure out what just came over the two of you for a moment is something you can’t pass up on. 

Click.

You roll the film forward, and the look you catch on Dave’s face puts the fear into you. His eyes are narrowed, and his face looks stern. You put your hands up defensively, letting the camera fall to your mattress again. Holy shit. One hand hits your bed frame and the other is at your jawline. 

“You’re going to keep that promise right? You won’t show anyone?” You nod in response, his voice is too tense for you to say anything otherwise. You’re choking on your words, and he backs off a bit. “Fuck, sorry, I didn’t mean to- ah fuck.”

Yeah, that’s about where you’re at too. You’re not gay, are you? You just kissed your best friend and then took pictures of him that you’ll probably treasure all too much. You might be gay. Holy shit, you might be gay. 

“Dave I-” You lose your train of thought seeing the stress in his body, the tension held in his muscles and the way his face contorted. “It’s okay dude, I-” 

He backs away this time, leaving a cold, empty space in front of you. You wish he’d stayed. Dave slumps into his own bed.  
“Let’s talk about it tomorrow okay?” That’s all he has to say about it? You start to say something and decide not to. If he wants to deal with it tomorrow that’s fine, you can deal with it tomorrow. 

“Good Night Dave.” You breathe, and you can see him nod. You set your camera on top of the plywood above your bed and flick off the lights.


	3. There's something about it

Dave is gone before you’re awake the next morning, and your head is throbbing and you remember you were out pretty late. You check your phone, and it’s dangerously low for the fact you have class in- oh. You have class in approximately ten minutes ago. You swing out of bed, ducking your head to miss the top bunk. 

You quickly make your way through your morning routine, knowing you’re not going to make it to photography this morning. You can at least make it to the rest of your classes today. The water is too cold when you step into the shower and somehow that wakes you up more than the cups of coffee that follow it. By the time you’re in your car, you still feel foggy around the edges, but faster for what it’s worth. The traffic spikes your anxiety and you quietly remind yourself that you should get a bike or something for when it’s not too hot to bike to school.

You trudge through the first class you didn’t miss with the same kind of distracted fogginess you’ve spent most of your morning in. As you walk out you can see Dave’s curls ahead of you and part of you wants to call out to him, but he sees you first. You smile weakly when he comes over, all serious with the carefully blank expression that he wears in public. You miss his shy smile already.

Dave’s hand brushes your elbow and nods in the direction of the art building. There’s a narrow alcove to the brick and when you get to it, you casually lean against the wall. Dave steps back, crossing his arms over his waist, as if to protect himself. It leaves you with a wedge of space that keeps you trapped and makes it look casual to onlookers. You know he’s doing it on purpose.

“You didn’t wake me up this morning.” You start, accusingly. You’re carefully watching his expressions, as if the carefully constructed poker face Dave wears in public would tell you anything outside of the fact that you are, in fact, in public. He looks like he’s more worried, eyebrows knitted a stitch too tight.

There’s a too-long pause, a deep breath from him. Weight shifted back and forth for a second more than you had anticipated. You note that it seems like he’s waiting until the last of the people from your class are far enough back that the majority would count this as a private outdoor conversation. It happens eventually, two people sitting on the bench across the main walkway sharing a set of headphones. You can’t have been here for more than a minute, though it feels like an hour. You find the corner of your lips twitching up into a slight smile as your focus comes onto the features nearer to you. You’re half paying attention to the soft mumble of something under his breath. 

“So, uh, we cool?” He starts, corner of his mouth twitching downwards. You lose your smile in the process. Was he going to tell you off? Was he expecting you to be upset?

“What?” You edge cautiously, feeling the newly familiar squeeze in your chest. “Dave? Why wouldn’t we be?”

There’s a long pause, and you’re trying to read his train of thought from his face. It isn’t working well for you. He almost looked surprised that you weren’t upset or dragging it out. You take a shaky breath, and you’re tempted to reach for him, put a pin in the gears whirling. You want to take the tension out of his face. You see his jaw set, and then hear a slight sigh.

“You’re not mad?” His voice pitches, and the pang in your chest gets worse. “I mean that was kinda uncalled for especially considering the living situation and fuck. Dude that’s uncalled for and I know you’ve said you’re not into guys and I had to go and fuck that u-” 

This time you do reach for him. You grab his forearm and softly hold onto him so he doesn't have the option of running away. You pry his hand out of the little fist he’d made. Your eyes are on your hands instead of trying to make eye contact with a pair of shades. 

“I don’t really know what I’m into, Dave. I don’t know.” You pause and thumb over the scars on his knuckle, “I do know I didn’t not like kissing you.”

There’s a flush crawling up Dave’s face when you look up at him, and the corner of his mouth is turned down still as if he’s in shock at what you said. You let him have his hand when he pulls back and you shove your hands in the pockets of your jeans. You’re a little in shock at the words you just said. Cool, at least that's on the table. He doesn’t run away the way you think he might. Take a breath, Egbert. 

“Oh, uh, okay cool I guess maybe I’ll have to do it again sometime. Like if you’re okay with that and all.” There’s a soft stutter and a thickening accent his words that makes you think that you’re making a mistake by saying anything at all instead of letting him fall into the sort of rambling he usually does. It’s cute. You step in closer, trying to get yourself out of this nook of the building. Not close enough to make a big deal out of it, but enough you can see Dave’s shoulders raise slightly in anxiety. 

“Do you want a ride home?” You ask, just above a whisper. There’s a pause, and Dave looks off to the side, blushing hard. “I have one more class in like twenty minutes, but it should be pretty short today.”

He nods, taking the cue to step off to the side and let you pass him. You purposely bump into his shoulder and he makes a noise you don’t quite register. Better to let him stew in his own thoughts without being in the middle of it. You know for a fact that he takes his own sweet time to come to any sort of conclusion.

You get through the last class of the day thinking about Dave. You’re trying to sort a thousand things without having anywhere to sort them to. Your head hurts. Papers shuffle across the desk to you and you meet the teachers eyes. 

“I don’t anticipate with your test scores and impressive academics you’ll have any problems with this class, but I suspect you’re distracted. In the future, please try to stay checked in, Egbert.” You nod slightly, and your professor smiles at you. You were distracted. The papers you were handed were a copy of the day's slides for you to take notes of and you can’t help but feel a bit embarrassed. You were so lost in your thoughts the entire class went by without you realizing it. Great. Another thing to add to your list of fuck ups today. You didn’t even manage to get to any kind of conclusion with your time. It’s unlike you to get a wrench thrown in academics, but you guess you haven’t really had the time to think about this kind of stuff. Thinking you fit one way or the other in the mess of puzzle pieces thrown at your feet is fine but…. You got distracted again, the classroom is almost empty now and the professor is looking at you with a sort of curiosity that makes your stomach knot. You’re going to give yourself ulcers if you keep putting yourself in these kinds of situations.

You gather up your stuff and hurry out of the classroom with a quick ‘thank you’ to your professor and a quick dodge of questions from the couple of girls outside the door. Dave is off to your left with headphones on, taking up just enough space to seem nonchalant and not the center of attention. You’re careful not to scare him when you get closer, setting your phone on the table. It still startles him though and you feel a little bit bad. The flinch is minimized, but it still catches in the corner of your eye. 

“Hey, you ready to go? I think I wanna stop at the grocery store on the way home.” You start talking, not letting Dave get into your head again. It finally cleared up some being next to him and you’re starting to think that this is just going to become the norm for you. The tilt of his lips makes you smile a little bit. 

“Yeah I could go for a snack about now.” Dave replies casually, starting to move like he was going to get up. You follow suit, and autopilot your brain to where you’ve parked your car on campus every day since school started. Dave is filling you in on what you missed in photography that morning, and you make an effort to follow along. There’s only so much information you can hold at a time though, and the pain in your head grows some. You unlock your car, chucking your bag in the trunk this time after grabbing the wallet out of the front pocket. You lean across the car and open the door for Dave, shoving it out the best you can. The way he gets into the car is so much smoother than you. You find yourself tracing his motions as if you were going to draw it. You never were much for drawing, but Dave would deserve the attention. The soft texture of his hair and smooth skin with the hint of stubble at the chin as he dips to grab the aux cord to your car. You’re reminded that you should be getting started on the whole driving business. 

Backing out of your spot and pushing your car into gear. You’re making a small grocery list in your mind, the beats from Dave’s phone making your car vibrate a little bit. Your throat is tight, and you know as well as anything you’re running out of energy. 

The drive home is uneventful at best. You spend most of the time trying to focus, failing, and adding just enough words to the conversation soup that you can get by. By the time you’re both done with your errands, you’re exhausted. The stairs take up the last of your effort and Dave is ahead of you, an obscene amount of bags in his arms. He left you with just your backpack and the pizza pocket that’s become less than hot. You have to jog to unlock the door before he gets there. 

He’s putting stuff away and you flash a peace sign before dipping into your shared room. You drop several things once you’re inside. Your bag on the floor, your pizza pocket on your makeshift desk, and your jeans. You kick the last of the items off to the corner and slip into pyjama pants. You feel at least 35% better. There’s no doubt about it. 

You fling yourself at your bed, and end up some sort of sprawled across it. You ended up hitting your elbow against the top bunk and your head against the frame. There’s what seems to be a few minutes to you, where you try to sort out your thoughts. 

It startles you when Dave peeks his head in around the doorframe. You lift one hand and flash your second peace sign at him. He seems unimpressed. 

“Dude. It’s been like two hours, I thought you were hungry.” His voice is soft, but you know when you’re being chided and take a deep breath. You reach up to the slats of the bunk above you and haul yourself mostly upright. Oh, you left the pizza pocket out. It’s definitely cold now. You sigh and put your palm under your glasses to rub your eyes. You hear him move, and there’s a cautious hand on your knee. When you move your hands, Dave’s crouched in front of you with his head tipped inquisitively. He really did pick up some habits from studying the crows back home, didn’t he?

“Sorry Dave, I just lost track of time thinking.” You’re only kind of making an excuse. You did lose track of time thinking, but you didn’t think it was that much time. Dave’s eyebrows climb above his shades, he’s not buying it. Regardless, he gently pats the inside of your knee with an awkward pause punctuating the moment. He’s standing up in a second, dipping as he walks away to snag your pizza pocket in its wax paper bag. 

You get up to follow him, the static from laying down flooding your vision for a second. You’ve been here just long enough to miss the bedroom door as your eyes clear the white noise visuals. 

“Hey I was gonna eat that.” You start, only to see that Dave just threw it in the microwave, but there’s a bowl of what looks like ramen sitting on the counter as well. 

“No can do compadre, you get nuked pizza pocket. You didn’t come out to witness my absolute baller kitchen skills. Your loss, my ramen. I see you looking, Egbert, you’re not fooling me.” Dave just says things sometimes, doesn’t he? You can feel a smile on your lips, and you can’t help but laugh a little when he snatches the bowl of ramen off the counter and hops up on the counter to cross his legs underneath him. You catch that he’s eating with chopsticks when the microwave beeps aggressively at you. You leave it to beep for a few seconds as you sneak your way behind Dave to the fridge. There is no sneaking from you, you absolutely can’t teleport around the way that your roommate can apparently.

You get a can of Pepsi from the fridge and intentionally brush your fingers across Dave’s waist as you squeeze by again. You can practically feel Dave bristle and you feel a little bad. He relaxes quickly though and when you retrieve your pepperoni pocket thing, you can see the hint of red stemming from his ears. It’s cute. You can’t believe you’re thinking that, it's a total 180 to literally yesterday where you couldn’t imagine being with anyone at all. You blink and find Dave with a brow furrowed, and shades folded in the neck of his tee. He stands up straight and pushes the plate across the counter to where you’ve been standing for an indeterminate amount of time. You didn’t even finish opening the can of soda in your hand. You crack it open and take a sip, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks and behind your ears. 

“Earth to Egbert, damn. Eat something and go the fuck to sleep dude, you’re spacing out like you’re part of Nasa, or space X or some shit.” There’s a slight double tap and you catch Dave’s hand on the rim of your plate as he talks, and… right. Eat something and go to bed. You think you can do that. Dutifully, you set down your soda and pick up the pizza pocket. It’s still acceptably warm and bite into it. Nothing special, it’s just a hot pocket. Dave keeps talking about photography, and you’re happy to listen to him talk as he tries, and you fail to absorb, some basic concepts that you’re sure he’ll have to explain again. 

You do finish your food, albeit slowly, and wash your plate halfheartedly. It really wasn’t that dirty. You finish your soda, and laugh as Dave tries really hard to crush the can against his forehead. More than likely it will bruise, and he’s gonna have a semicircle of shame visible for a few days. That lifts your mood more than eating did, and you settle into your room while Dave opts to sit on the counter and do something with his laptop. You’re not sure what he’s doing, and it doesn’t really make a difference. 

Sitting cross legged on your bed, you’re idly tapping through your chats. You’re not finding what you’re looking for, and you’re not even sure what “what you’re looking for” is. Tossing your phone to the side, you take to organizing your week's homework out. You’re partially through your biology reading when your phone buzzes. You must have missed it doing so a few times since your lock screen is full. There’s a message from Dave saying he’s going out for a bit, don’t worry about it. You tell him to have fun without any other questions. 

The message that pulls your focus is Rose though. 

TT: John are you alright?  
TT: Dave has sent me at least fifteen excessively wordy messages regarding your apparent ability to lose time and “not even blink like a fish or whatever animals dont blink for an excessive amount of time” and you have him a bit worried.  
TT: That said, I know you haven’t been moved in with him for all that long, how are you faring?

\-- tentacleTherapist is now an idle chum! --

EB: hey, yeah i'm fine.  
EB: i've just been a bit tired, it's a really big change!  
TT: I can imagine living with Dave is a big change from living with just your dad in a quiet house.  
TT: Aren’t you also in an apartment complex as well?  
EB: yeah, it’s a little bit weird to have so much noise around.   
EB: i’ll be the first to admit i’m still getting used to it.  
TT: Any other astounding observations of self you’d like to share?

You mentally sputter a bit at that. Did Dave? No. No. He wouldn’t have talked to Rose about that already would he? Does she know about Dave? Well, obviously she would at least have suspicions. If she’s suspicious of Dave then she might be suspicious of you too. Shit. 

\-- ectoBiologist is now and idle chum! --  
EB: shit, sorry.  
EB: i was distracted by the video for my biology class.   
EB: definitely not anything else at all!  
TT: Sure, John.   
TT: Are you sure you weren’t having a sexuality crisis, again?  
TT: Don’t you remember your rampant mentionings of ‘not a homosexual’ from a couple of years back?  
TT: Are you reconsidering your stance on the matter?  
EB: uuuuuugh, no.   
TT: I’d encourage you to open your mind a bit, John.  
TT: You’re in college now, after all.   
TT: Why don’t you give things the old, what’s the saying?  
TT: Give it the old college try, why don’t you?  
EB: give what a college try?  
EB: sports? wet tee shirt contests?   
TT: If you so desire, then yes.  
TT: I was more referencing experiencing more than your small window of human sexuality you’ve allowed yourself to explore since you are no longer under your fathers watch.  
TT: You know as well as I do that Dave likely has.   
TT: Have you not thought about it at all?  
EB: dave???  
EB: also, no, not really. i hadn’t really thought about it because it didn’t make any difference.  
TT: How so?

You pause here. If Rose knows about Dave and hasn’t made a fuss out of it, she probably wouldn’t make any sort of deal out of it to you either. She’s your friend, you should trust her. That’s how you’re supposed to feel right. 

EB: sorry, got distracted again.  
EB: i guess i just, haven’t ever really thought that way about anyone.  
TT: So you claiming you are not a homosexual was purely because you thought that was what is expected of you?  
EB: i don’t know! maybe?  
TT: Well that’s not very socially progressive of you, John. 

You don’t hear Dave come in the door. You do, however, hear him laugh at you when you throw yourself back against the wall and groan in your frustration. The attention you were paying to your phone snaps to Dave and you can feel the embarrassment heating your skin again. 

“Let me guess, you were talking to Rose?” he laughs again, this time at your expression. “Look, nobody gets that frustrated at their phone unless they’re talking to someone frustrating, and who’s more frustrating to talk to than Rose when she’s trying to sneak information out of you.”

He’s right, but you just groan at a lesser volume and agree with him. 

EB: gotta go, dave’s home.

\-- ectoBiologist ceased pestering tentacleTherapist! --

TT: Tata! Have fun with that, John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took sooooo long and is shorter than I wanted it to be. I should be back to writing here soon since it's no longer the busy season in work.


	4. Chapter 4

Morning comes, you get up and go to class. Dave stays behind this time, and you slug through class with very little enthusiasm. It goes by sluggishly, and you find yourself doodling in the margins more than actually taking notes, but you take enough to pass it off. Between classes, there’s a blonde girl that approaches you. She chats at you for a minute and you immediately note that she’s self important and louder than you wanted to put up with. It’s not long before another girl comes up behind her and loops her arms around the blonde’s waist. They’re both loud and picking you apart, and it takes a smaller, angrier boy to step in before you can sneak all the way the fuck out of that interaction.

You let yourself into the darkroom, or more so the collection of rooms that make up the darkroom area, after your classes are over. The girl at the entrance scans your ID and lets you in. Your teacher is standing at the back of the hallway shuffling through some printed media you can’t see. 

You settle yourself in next to him, and you see the eyebrow before he talks. You catch a glance at the top photo of the stack. It’s a carefully posed girl, her bare shoulders a beautiful soft grey. On her shoulder sits a bird, it looks like a crow, or a raven. Her spine juts out and the shadow cast by the bird ripples. You don’t see any more than that since the teacher lets one half of the stiff paper fall, exposing only the back of the stack.

“Can I help you, Mister Egbert?” He asks gently, crossing his arms so the images are pressed against his thigh, out of sight. You fish your camera out of your bag, and the canister of film that Dave had wound back and put a fresh roll in for you when you asked. The pictures on the second roll are mostly of things around your room, to practice using the focus and how the lighting changed during the evening, but there’s still ten shots left. It’s black and white film, like you’re meant to be using in this class. 

“Oh, uh, yeah. I have a roll of film I’d like to develop, but I don’t even know where to start. Dave got it out of the camera for me, but-” you let yourself trail off, hoping the teacher would pick up where you were headed with that.

“I see. You mentioned Dave, is there a reason you’re not having him show you?” The tone that comes across is less than impressed, but there’s a soft hint of concern behind it. 

“Uh, he’s not here today and I didn’t want to bother him with trivial things like this.” You trail off into a nervous laugh and your professor softly sighs and places the prints face up on a rack nearby and places his bag over the top of the rack, so you can’t see again. He holds his hands out and you fish the roll out of your bag. He takes it gently and you can see his face light up. You can see the marks Dave left on the metal casing. 

“Well it looks like he’s set you up for success. Here, I’ll set you up to practice rolling the loose film into the canister and then when you feel like you could do it with your eyes closed, you can do it yourself.” Your professor's voice is gentle, but he points you to a folding chair in the corner, next to a locker that seems to be whirring softly like a weak vacuum. 

Your professor hands you a long strand of blank film, and a metal reel like you would see in the movies. He shows you how to lock the film into place and how to twist it into position without touching the film itself. Apparently that will affect whether the image comes through or not. After showing you twice how to do it, your professor leaves you to your devices and you find yourself doing it idly. You check a couple times to make sure it’s all spaced evenly in the roll. It seems to be easier than he let on, and you think it’s only been a few minutes. What alerts you to the passing of time is the couple coming out of the film room, his hair tousled and thick curls stuck with sweat to his forehead. The blonde that follows him is flushed bright red upon seeing you, and he scurries off like he’s late for something. You have to laugh, you hadn’t even thought about people using a light proof room that could contain projects that would be ruined by barging in. Especially not for, well, that. You consider, shortly, locking yourself in just to recharge, but you wouldn’t even consider using it for sex. That seems really rude to the other people that would have to use it after. Those people, today, include you. 

When your professor comes back, he shows you how to set up your counter so you can find all the pieces, and when you nod along, he leaves you alone. The door closes behind you and suddenly you doubt your ability. You cautiously run through the motions with the lights on, but your eyes closed. Then you count your steps to the door, lock it, and turn the lights off. Four steps in, and your hip bumps into the counter. Your left hand finds your canister of film, and fumbles to the spot on the wall that you can hook the metal part into and pop the end off. Next, you peel the tube off with nothing short of medium effort and your film unspools all at once. You carefully snip the narrowed end off with a sharp pair of scissors that you managed to drop no less than three times. You hook the keys of the film into the reel and carefully twist it together. It feeds into the reel without an issue and you take a deep breath as you drop it into the tank and screw the top on tight. 

When you open the door, you’re suddenly blinded with the white sun streaked room just outside the hallway. There’s a couple people that glance up at you, but for the most part, you don’t seem to draw any attention to yourself. The directions to develop your film are written on the wall, with a sticky note under the directions addressed to you, letting you know what kind of film you actually have. You measure out your chemicals and pour them carefully through the top of your developing tank. It’s an easy enough process to follow, with the timer on the wall ticking rhythmically to let you know time is passing normally. 

When you get to the end of the process, you pull the reel out of the tank and the foamy solution gathers at the bottom edge like little sloths clinging to a branch. You can see a single image of Dave’s smiling face on the outside, clear and contrasty like you saw on your powerpoint slides as “ideal”. He really did set you up for success. You dunk your whole reel into the washing tank and let it go through its process as you clean up and wash the tools you used. The people around you seem more practiced, laughing and letting their film go over the recommended times. When you’ve counted sixty ticks on the timer, you go to fish your film out of the water and you almost drop it when you hear Dave’s voice. 

He sounds so casual and at ease, something you don’t hear often. You wiggle the film a bit, and then let it unspool over the towels on the floor. The pictures are mostly clear, and there’s a couple you want to print just to tuck away in your photo albums. Dave is behind you in a second, and you know it’s him simply by the fact you don’t hear his footsteps, only the brush of air over your shoulder. 

“Those came out good, mind if I take a peek?” There’s shivers up your spine, and you nod softly. 

“Yeah, they’re halfway your pictures anyways. You set the camera up for me.” That seems to draw a few heads. Dave carefully pinches the edge of the film and tips the film up to the light. The corner of his mouth tips up, and it floods your chest with warmth that he might like what you did. 

“Let’s get them dry and see how well they hold up, Egbert. Not bad for a first timer though. You wouldn’t think I was your first.” He says it so casually, and your heart stalls for a second. The expression on your face must give that away because he laughs, and the eyes in the room are all on you. Your cheeks and ears are burning and you elbow Dave sharply.

“That’s only funny when we aren’t in a room with other people in it, Dave.” You hiss sharply. He keeps laughing and then he’s suddenly gone. He’s taken your film and clipped it up in the vacuum closet. He smoothly changes some settings and closes the door before you can see what he’s done. 

“Oh, so you want me all to yourself now? Bold move Egbert, I can respect that.” his voice is smooth like warmed butter over bread. You stutter through a protesting noise, and the chuckles from the other people in the room get to you. A quick spin and you’re out. You don’t think but duck into the film loading room, out of the bright. You slammed the door, but didn’t lock it. Back against the wall and knees tucked to your chest you try to calm down, feeling your heart pound in your ears. 

In a few minutes, Dave comes back in and crouches in front of you, door cracked open to let streaks of light come in. It’s darker than you remember it being outside. 

“Hey, you okay? I didn’t even see you get in here.” He’s softer now, less practiced and smooth. You look up to him with starry eyes. The light made stars in your vision when he opened the door and they’re just starting to clear up. 

“That was a little uncalled for, Dave. It was actually like, yesterday you freaked out about whatever you wanna call what happened and today you’re flirting like nobody’s business!” Your voice is quiet, breaking across the first word with the force of it. It makes you cringe to hear. It doesn’t sound like your voice anymore. Maybe your voice a few years ago, before it decided to descend into octaves that didn’t make you want to tear your own throat out. 

“I- yeah. You’re right. It’s not like I meant to make you uncomfortable, but I guess you haven’t had any art classes with me before. You’re not the only one I’ve done that to.” Somehow that hurts more, coming from him. He looks apologetic, with his shades pressed up into his hair, curls engulfing the edges of the glass. You take a shaky breath.

“Not helping, that was too much for me.” You say it with a little bit of bite, voice still shuddering a little bit. You see his face fall some, and that makes you feel bad in and of itself. Legs unfold and refold so you can stand up without needing your hands. It looks like the whole area is closed. It’s just Dave and you in here, isn’t it. Heat begins to build in your face again at the thought. “Are we in here alone?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s after normal hours, but both the profs let me hang out since I basically lived here all summer.” He shrugs it off casually, standing up now that you aren’t crammed into the corner of the closet size room. He gives you a little space, as if he’s pushed you too hard all the sudden. You sigh dramatically, and shrug your way past him into the hall. 

“Cool, do you wanna actually show me something or are you just going to drive me into a panic attack and come get me when you have to flush out all the people who fuck in the closet.” There’s more bite to your words than you meant for them to have, and you see Dave pause in his step. 

“I got your film out of the dryer if you want to see what the pictures will look like when you print them.” He says cautiously. You turn to look at him, and see the tension in his jaw. You sigh and run a hand through your hair. He relaxes visibly when you nod, and it’s almost like you can see the light come up behind his eyes. Dave lightly nudges your shoulder behind a black curtain, and you can see the numbered lockers. Your name is in tape on locker 413, and Dave swings it open. There’s a small pile of plastic binder slips in there with film trimmed neatly and filed away. You can see Dave’s handwriting in grey? No, it’s gotta be red, but all the lights in this room are red themselves. 

Dave slides the film out of the plastic and nods over to a bench. He flicks a light on and slips the film into the brackets on the top. On the bottom, a line of photos come up in color. The one that catches your attention in particular, is Dave. He’s leaning smoothly against the top bunk of your side, a smirk catching the corner of his lips. Reflective aviators are clipped to his collar and you can see clearly, the lens of your camera catching just a sliver of your reflection. Enough to catch the subtle blue of your hoodie. 

You’re aware Dave is standing right behind you, right now. You could make that happen again. The tables could turn and you could make his cheeks heat up. All it would take is for you to get him trapped in one of the many little cubbies in here. Instead you rock your weight back onto your heels, thinking you have more room than you did. The gentle brush of his hip against yours and you lose your train of thought. He backs off, though, sidestepping just a little bit. His fingers brush against the smooth white of the preview bench, warping his own face over his hand. You’re paying more attention to him than what he’s pointing out to you. 

Cautiously you set your hand over his, your fingers hit the smooth plastic between his. Splayed like a chord on the piano. He doesn’t snatch his hand away the way you thought he might. You risk a glance over. Dave’s looking at you like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle, one brow drawn down in thought. 

“I don’t get you.” He says, plainly. You shrug and turn so you’re facing away from the photos on the bench. Looking at him is more important right now. 

“Maybe I don’t get me either.” You reply calmly, letting the weight of your hand come down on his. Dave’s free hand brushes the back of his neck in a nervous tick. “Didn’t figure it’d hurt to figure things out right?”

He takes a deep breath and the way he moves is careful, slow. You can see the hesitation in his movements, but his eyes are on you. It’s kind of intense to make eye contact, and you find yourself watching his hands. The one beneath yours shifts some, and the free one connects with your jawline. He’s caging you in, bit by bit. You don’t mind this time. The developing room backlights Dave in his own signature color, and the way it flits through the messy curls and cradles his jawline. He’s gorgeous in his own way, and the steady ticks of the clock on the wall let you know you’ve been studying the light on his features for several seconds longer than you think you should. The fingers on your jaw drag forward and catch your attention. 

“Can I kiss you?” You blurt out, and there’s a pause, and then a laugh.

“I thought that was the game plan here, just wanted to make sure you were done doing a study on red light photography with your eyes.” 

Your hands find themselves fisted in his shirt, and you relish the soft sweetness of the kiss that follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like this was another short update, but I'm going to try and chug through some of this story during nanowrimo! Thank you for being patient with an inconsistent upload schedule!


	5. Chapter 5

From there, things are smooth for a while. Things become a routine, at least. You go to class, on Wednesdays Dave rides with you to school and you meet after classes at the pizza place to chat with Jade. There’s a lot about your first week of classes that you haven’t thought about. The fact you kissed your best friend, not once, but twice. It hadn’t happened again, and you weren’t about to throw yourself into an existential crisis over something that only happened twice. 

You’re on your way to class, on absolute autopilot now that you’re growing used to the ravenous maw of the traffic you’ve elected to subject yourself to every morning for the foreseeable future. Actually lately you’ve been doing alright. You’re getting out and seeing your friends, you haven’t felt the need to sit curled up in your bed with the cement blanket of your depression keeping you there. If you were a betting man though, you’d bet it won’t last long. Ahead of you, Dave is already walking up the stairs. He’s got two kids that intercept him before you can get up the stairs. You sigh and sidestep so you can get around the group. 

You’re in photography the first time it happens. You’re taking notes, doodling in the margins among other things when you see the flash of Dave’s phone beside you. Usually he’s better about his phone brightness and the image that catches your glance drives a spike of jealousy into your core. It hurts and you have no reason to be hurt by it, but you don’t dare mention it. You don’t like how your stomach falls into the endless pit that makes your head spin. 

Since the last time you talked to Rose, she hadn’t brought anything up, but you assured her that you were taking her words to heart and you weren’t about to share your college experiences with her so she could use them to write her stories. You let yourself withdraw some, not reaching out to Rose or Dave beyond basic conversation. The weight of that commitment is starting to drag behind you. It makes the days feel like they’re moving too fast and you’re moving too slow. You throw yourself into your academics more, forcing yourself into the same kind of schedule you had at home. Relying on the pull of normalcy in the form of being the quiet nerd in the front of the class. You could do that. You could be that.

The second time is months later, when you’re home, wrapped up in your blankets watching a youtube documentary on your phone with your back to the door. Dave stumbles in with a loudness to him you hadn’t heard before. He stumbles into your shared room and flashes you a peace sign when you look at him. You feel that spike of jealousy when he peels off a snug fitting shirt that- is his shirt on inside out? It is. You can see the print when he gets it over his head. The second thing that grabs your attention is the dark purple bruises at his hip bone, his ribs and finally his neck. There’s something that grabs your heart and squeezes it like someone is trying to extract orange juice from it and getting nothing but the hollowness of disappointment. 

You don’t sleep well that night, or for several nights following it. Dave is staying out more, and coming home drunk or covered in hickies or both. It’s driving you nuts and you can’t even put a finger on why. You don’t own Dave, and you certainly don’t get to tell him what he can and can’t do. Somehow you can’t quiet the voice in your head that’s telling you that you should get a say. Your pull into academics isn’t saving you from your thoughts anymore and those start to slip out of your grasp too. 

It’s hard when you’re second best. There’s a bright kid in your class, who’s just a little bit older than you. He wears his knowledge like a burden, and he’s soaring above you in grades. Sitting rightfully at the top. When you start slipping, his eyes catch you like he’s worried, but they pass over without catching. You sigh and let it happen. You’ll fall into the pull of the waves now, let it take you. Hanging onto just the bare minimum is something you can do. Nothing is easier than settling into old habits, old rhythms. 

Weeks pass, then a month. You manage to hold onto second best. Your Wednesday outings were getting shorter. It felt more like you were just there to drive Dave and Jade around, then they stopped asking you to drive. They only asked that you come. When it started to feel like they spent more time drowning in each other's eyes over a shared drink. The lead in your stomach made bile burn the back of your throat. You stopped going.

The bruises that bloomed on Dave’s skin are long faded, but you still feel the ache of jealousy every time you see him peel his shirt off. The streaks along his turned back, the tousled hair that looked like he tried to fix it and failed. Everything burns itself into your head. Another example of being too much to deal with. Too scared to throw yourself into something new, but too clingy to properly let go. He still tries to connect with you. He still offers help with photography, to share music with you. It’s a mountain to climb and the weight in your stomach is getting harder to haul to the top. The exhaustion that comes with it is starting to show in your work. The comments on your photos consist of “lacks life” and “cold, no energy”. Part of you wants to dramatically throw yourself to your professors feet and tell her that your photos reflect how you feel. Really.

You can see the gaps in your work, and instead of proclaiming your mental illness to someone who doesn’t need to hear it, you nod. You promise to do better. 

You spend more time away from the apartment, the need to be alone was driving you out of your room instead of sucking you in. The transition from capitol city to mild California country was rapid, the highway taking you out through the gently rolling foothills. You find a few spots to park and walk out, the low trees offering a sense of security like home. It’s not the same, and nothing will be the same as home. Part of you is disappointed in yourself. That part of you gets bigger and bigger. 

The grading notes on your photography improve, but your teacher holds eye contact a little longer each time you hand in a stack of prints. You know she’s worried, but you can’t help and feel like this is just normal for this time of year for you. Things will pick up in the spring, you promise yourself, they usually do. The warmth and sun help fill your bones with a merciful sort of happiness. A reminder that you can do things. That feeling settles into your bones with the warmth of the sunshine. Sometimes there’s a warm day where the sun shreds it’s way through the blanket of fog that settles into the valley. Those are the days you feel like there’s hope. 

The third time breaks you. It was months from the second. Winter break promised you a drive home. Your car made it, somehow. You forced a smile to your dad and let the comfort of the house you grew up in lull you into a false sense of security. There was a little bit of reading you had to do over winter break for your english class and your photography teacher had asked you to continue. She said that you had potential and continuing your work in the dark room may help you feel a little more secure in exposing parts of yourself through your work. You don’t know exactly what she was getting at, but you did sign up for a second semester. 

You have a whole portfolio of photos to show your dad. You keep the ones of Dave from the beginning tucked away. You never did end up doing any more than a test print of any of them. Those are tucked into a sleeve behind all the finished test strips and photos you thought were actually good. Dave had helped with a couple of your projects. Forced proximity and all. 

The photo pinned to the fridge is your Dad’s favorite. It’s not even one you took. Dave had snatched your camera and snapped a photo of you laughing with Jade at the pizza parlor. It’s vignetted in white, despite the negative not being blown out like that. You printed it anyways. That whole day feels so far out of your reach, like you’re looking at the memory through a glass of water, warped and unreal. 

That turns out to be the first photo in your spring portfolio when you get back. You’d carefully set the glass on the counter. The photo pinned to the fridge on top of a collection of photos of you as a kid and tests you’d excelled at in elementary school. Drawings, photos, proof that you had some concrete worth. Things that felt so far away. You ended up with the glass perched at the very edge of your counter, focusing on the image that you could see clearest through the water. Jade with her arm slung happily over your shoulder, a glass in her other hand threatening to slosh over the edges. The water makes the image pull apart through the middle, stretching your face wide and keeping Jade clear. Her smile looks clear anyways. 

The shutter clunks. You wind the film forwards, and shoot two more without moving your camera. One too dark, one too light. A few more photos with different angles to get different reflections. You heard your dad’s car. When he comes in, you’re taking a long drink out of the glass of water. He smiles at you and you make some idle small talk for just enough time that you can justify checking out. The camera is still in your hands.

The drive back is long and uneventful, you shuffle through traffic, your car protesting at the fact you want to push the speed limit. It’s not the engine, it’s the car itself as it shudders over the pavement. There’s mountains and seas of evergreens for most of the drive. It’s the last four hours that are the most boring. Flat, mostly straight, and nothing but orchards and rice fields for miles and miles. The city rises out of the river in the distance as the road bounces you over a long stretch of bridge. You start to feel a sense of relaxation, the familiar radio station static clearing to have some pop song or another fading in. You’re finally back. 

When you get back to the apartment, you knock loudly. Jogging up the stairs had left you out of breath. With no answer you figure Dave isn’t home. The door clicks open and you hear Jade gasp and sputter before you see her. Her hands are in Dave’s hair, his blonde crushed between her tan thighs, hands gripping the soft edge of your couch. You falter for a second, back up a step and let the door bang closed. The weight in your chest bleeds outward, filling your limbs with lead, and every time you swallow you’re swallowing the weight of the jealousy. It’s only a few seconds, but you leave before Jade or Dave can make excuses. Before they can even catch up to you. 

You don’t think you’ve ever made it down the stairs that fast. You’re sitting in your car again before you know it, despite spending the last 12 hours or so sitting right here. There’s a moment's hesitation before you shove your key into the ignition again. There’s a power plant about half an hour south of here. If you hit the freeway at just the right time you could get there before sunset. Maybe then you could sit by the water and figure out what the hell just happened. 

You do get there before sunset, the gravel road crunching under your tires. The sun is just creeping down into the distant mountains, staining the pale winter grass a burnt orange. The color reminds you of something you can’t quite put your finger on. 

Sitting against your car at the edge of the lake lasts until the chill of California’s winter air gets to be too much to bear. You haven’t looked at your phone, and you don’t think you want to. When you drive back into town, you don’t stop at the apartment. There’s nowhere really for you to go, actually. Not when all you’ve done is spend time at school or holed up in your room for months. The static of your car radio grasping the frequency of your favorite radio station back home is what sets you off. You don’t notice you’re crying until you sniffle. The wetness on the back of your hand when you wipe your eyes surprises you. You drive around until you think it’s been long enough.

You end up sitting in the parking lot at your apartment building. You spend some time with your knees crammed between your chest and the steering wheel, silently grateful that the horn stopped working months ago. You think you’ve stopped crying, but the feeling of being choked by emotions you can’t put a label on is overwhelming. The rubber band on your turn signal is on your wrist, fingers shaking when you snap it across your skin. It stings, but it’s not as good as the real thing. Your mind checks out again, hands shakily snapping the rubber band over and over again. This shouldn’t be affecting you so much. He isn’t yours, John. Not just because you’ve decided you want him to follow the whims of not knowing what you want and wait hand and foot on you to make up your mind. He deserves to be happy and have fun. You’re neither of those things. Even with your medications, you’re floating in a sea of numbness more often than not. 

There’s a tap on your window. You stop staring blankly at your speedometer long enough to see Dave’s shades clipped at his collar. Eye contact isn’t something you can do right now. You’re not even sure you want to see him. The prospect of not sleeping in the messy back seat of your car is motivation enough to reach out and unlock the door. You can hear him move this time, and he’s in your passenger seat before you can say anything. Not that you’d trust your voice right now anyways. 

“So that wasn’t how that was supposed to go. You okay?” His voice is rough, like he’d been screaming. Maybe he had. There’s no assumptions, no ‘I thought you’d be back later’ or anything like that. Your knees are still crammed into your chest, and your breath shudders when you inhale.There’s an ache to your whole self you can’t explain. 

“No.” Your voice comes out small, broken, pitched too high. Dave sighs, folding his leg underneath him as his hands roll over his jeans. The hands that were on her hips. You look away.

“Dude, I can’t even make excuses for myself this shit isn’t how I thought it’d go but you know, bitches be all up in my grill,” He trails off, “And that’s not true either, Jade’s not a bitch. I really didn’t think that’s how today would go though. I know we’ve been hanging out a lot but I really really didn’t think like y'know. Man I’d get if you’re mad at me, especially at home. That was uncool, like underwear on the outside of your pants uncool but not even the kinda cool superhero way. The tighty whities on the outside of cargo shorts kind of uncool.”

That makes you snort a little, and then sniffle. Guess you weren’t quite done with your emotional breakdown. 

“Man I’m sorry, really.” He’s looking at you now, you can feel his eyes burning into the side of your head. You catch his hand reaching out like he wants to try and comfort you, but instead his fingers disappear upwards and you assume he’s working them at the back of his neck. 

“It’s not like I own you, just surprised me is all.” You sigh the words out. The dust on your dash is more interesting to look at than anything you’ve ever seen in your life, suddenly. There’s a few beats of silence.

“Yeah.” His voice trails off. There’s a weight to everything right now. The weight of the air, of your chest, the stiffness in the back of your neck and the dull ache of your lower back from staying in your car so long. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, and you can’t bring yourself to move. Part of you wants to crash in the car and drive yourself back to your dad’s in the morning. 

“We should go inside John, it’s kind of the middle of winter.” There’s another lull, and you nod. Dave pushes his door open with a quiet creak. He doesn’t rush you or anything, but he grabs your backpack from the back seat of your car and slings it over his shoulder. 

You have to unfold yourself, clambering out of the car on weak knees like an hour old calf. Your hands are shaking when you lock the car. Your dad fixed your keys while you were home, so you can safely click the button and hear the mechanical clunk of the deadbolts. Walking back up the stairs has never been harder.


End file.
